


Firsthand

by cassandra_leeds (The_Circadian)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Background Het, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, M/M, Molestation, Porn Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5091515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Circadian/pseuds/cassandra_leeds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is looking for escape and finds his thoughts lingering on that porn tape. Sam educates.</p><p>Takes place just after 6x10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firsthand

 

 

Castiel goes looking. He does that now. He tries not to think of it too much. He’s usually thinking of a Heaven that is anything but. A burnt shell of a kingdom.

The people in the video were connected. They were inside each other. They wanted more from each other - skin too tan, hair too blond, moans too loud. But at least they were asking. These people want something that leads to a pleasurable result, as abstract as it seems to him even now. Castiel can’t remember the last time anything in his life had some kind of happy result, it’s been so long. There had been fleeting moments with Dean back when the world was burning down around them. But lately his life is spent with his hand gripping swords, hands covered with brothers’ and sisters’ blood to save his own from being spilled. He’s killing to save another End of Days upstairs. And truthfully, he’s beginning to wonder what he’s saving.

He shouldn’t be here. He should be back protecting what’s left with the few that still follow him and are alive. But, here he is, at Bobby’s home. He followed the brothers here unseen. He’s hiding from everyone. Just for a little while. Just for an hour or two. He just needs to think, needs to air the smell of charred bone out of his clothes.

The house is quiet. Dean went out for a drink or a drive – terrifyingly, maybe both. But Castiel can’t find the energy to care about that, not now when he can’t think about any one thing for long without feeling lost. It’s all too much.

Castiel runs his finger over smooth plastic hidden inside his trenchcoat pocket as he makes his way to the living room. He’d pocketed the tape back at Samuel’s, though he wasn’t sure, even as he’d done it, why. He sits for a moment on the couch, staring at nothing, still touching over the tape. The sensation it brought to watch this before was not altogether pleasant, but he wants it again. No matter how he tries, he can’t figure out why. He rises anyway, stepping to the television and pulling the VHS cassette out of his pocket. Bobby lied; the TV isn’t broken. Castiel pushes the tape into the VCR, already feeling that strange rush, the vessel’s heartbeat becoming a drum in his chest.

The screen fills with the staticy image of the pair. The babysitter’s name is Candi, but she seems to like being called other names more judging by her response to them. She’s wet in close up. Her fingers disappear into the slit there as the man in uniform sucks at her small and pink, soft nipples. He’s seen this before. He’s seen this all before; as an angel, he’s witnessed for millennia with quiet detachment human intimacy and its different physical manifestations. But now it’s different. Castiel again feels the heavy urgency in his groin, and, with a soft exhale of breath as he looks down, sees that he’s hard. It shouldn’t all be this intriguing, but it is.

“Interrupting?”

Castiel turns around. Sam is leaning against the doorway, beer in hand, smirk playing over his features.

Castiel swallows.

“I know, uh,” Sam says, stepping forward slowly, “my brother said we ‘don’t talk about it.’” He sits down next to Castiel, the sound of soft moaning and spanking filling the silence. “But I feel like maybe you want to talk about it.”

Castiel feels himself scowling. He knows this is not the Sam he’s known or come to trust. This is something else entirely. But it’s reaching out, whatever it – he – is. It sounds enough like care to be more attractive than anything else right now. Castiel nods.

“I’m guessing you don’t… completely understand it yet,” Sam says, and turns towards the TV where they watch Candi flip her hair back and rub herself over the thick length of a cock until it’s slick. “But you like watching it, don’t you?”

His clothes feel too tight, too rough, and the whole side of Castiel’s leg is burning suddenly with the heat of Sam pressed up against it as he moves closer. Castiel tenses, a very clear desire to flee running through him, but he makes no move.

“Have you touched yourself?”

Sam’s voice is soft, almost sweet, like he’s asking Castiel if he’s hurt.

Castiel shakes his head, staring at the screen.

Sam makes a sound of acknowledgment, and Castiel can feel Sam inspecting him even if he doesn’t look back over, feels Sam’s eyes wandering over him until they come to rest on the bulge in his pants, hears Sam suck in his breath at the sight almost inaudibly.

Sam moves his hand over from the top of his own thigh, fingers timidly brushing over the place where their legs touch, lingering there, testing.

“Why not?” Sam’s whispered words fall into the disappearing space between them, wait there.

Castiel’s body is thrumming with… something. Something urgent and frightening. And Sam’s tone is encouraging and surreal as it nears, fanning the flame of it as he places his beer on the ground, slides behind Castiel, pushes in tight between the small space between Castiel and the back of the couch, and surrounds him with warmth, humid and breathy. Sam’s body is hot all over his back, a heavy weight on Castiel even from behind. It’s odd. Castiel knows this is unusual, but doesn’t see what his next move should be, though his rocketing heartbeat is telling him to run, the knowledge in the back of his mind crying out that this  _isn’t_  Sam making him want to say no, want to push away. But Sam puts his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, an odd half embrace, and it feels good. It scares him, but it feels  _good_.

Sam is damp through his clothes; he’s showered since he’s gotten back and the perfume from the soap or shampoo he used is all over him, mixed with the smell of fresh sweat. He smells alive even if Castiel can sense that he’s empty, that there is no singing light inside this man anymore. These hands on the side of his head, these fingers winding through his hair are guided by something distinctly base in desire, something that is proving what it can do and fulfilling its own needs as it does. There is no care in this and certainly no love. He knows this. He  _feels_  this. He doesn’t want this, does he?

“Why not?” Sam asks again, pulling Castiel’s tie loose.

The movie rolls on. Candi pants for the man to spank her harder, harder, harder.

“Are you afraid to?”

Castiel trembles, Sam picking him apart like this. Fear isn’t it. It’s something else – control, maybe. He’s on the edge of letting himself fly off the handle with almost everything in his life these days. But Castiel can’t answer him, can’t tell him this, because he can’t exhale with Sam’s hand moving down his stomach the way it is. Every nerve in his body seems to be pointing towards where Sam’s hand is traveling too slowly. His hips jerk as Sam’s brushes over his thigh, skirting close around the straining ache close by.

“What do you feel, Castiel?” Sam murmurs, cheek pressed to his hair as they watch Candi beg. “Tell me.”

Castiel gasps, “I feel—“ Castiel squirms. “Sam…”

“Do you like watching her like that?” Sam asks and then pivots just so and Castiel can feel Sam’s cock hard and digging against his lower back through their clothes. “How much she wants it?” Sam breathes out and it burns over the side of Castiel’s face. “Just look at her. So wet. So ready.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No,” he grits out, finally able to produce the words. “It’s not that.”

He can feel Sam smiling against the side of his head. “You like  _him_?”

Castiel shakes his head again insistently, breath ragged. “It’s them. It’s both of them.”

The man is entering the girl on the screen from behind, her mouth held open on an obscene silent ‘oh.’ And then the man is thrusting into her over and over, saying how good she feels, how hot she is. She’s shaking with each push into her, moaning, pleading for more.

Castiel gasps and thrusts forward as Sam caresses softly over where Castiel’s cock strains against the cloth of his pants, runs his fingers over his zipper until Castiel is hissing breath through his teeth. Sam unbuckles Castiel’s belt, opens his fly, reaches in and Castiel tenses biting his lip to hold back the cry in his throat. “What about them?”

“They’re—” Castiel starts, interrupted by the overwhelming heat of Sam’s hand surrounding his cock. He can’t think, he can barely put together any thought except  _more, more, god, please, more_. “They’re together. They’re—“ and Castiel groans as Sam works his hand around Castiel, shifts and pulls at him with a sure and strong stroke. “Sam—“

“Come on, Castiel,” Sam says, hips moving up and rubbing the sharp shape of cock against Castiel’s back with a small huff of breath. “Tell me. Say it.”

“Oh, Sam,” Castiel closes his eyes tight, thrusts up into the fist circling his cock, pumping him steadily. “I’m. This is – Sam…”

“Is it an angel thing?”

And Castiel doesn’t know how to answer that, can’t figure it out with his body now spiraling out of control, finding a rhythm in Sam’s grip that still isn’t enough. But he nods anyway, because whatever this is, he can’t let himself ask for it to stop.

“They’re… sharing this,” he rasps out finally around a moan. “They’re giving each other something. Something the other needs and… oh, Sam, please…”

Castiel feels the friction of Sam’s grip change, grow slicker as he moves over the head of Castiel’s cock and back down, feels Sam thrusting against him now in a steadily quickening rhythm, breathing harsh. “Like we are?” He makes a sound into Castiel’s shoulder and bites, thrusts growing erratic as he shudders and chokes in climax, pressing the hard strain of his cock against him from behind again and again until it feels like it will bruise, and grits through his teeth, “Like this? Like this?”

Castiel nods. Yes. Yes. Sam’s strokes quicken even as he spasms coming down and Castiel’s flying apart, he’s going to faint, he’s going to die. Castiel shakes his head frantically, because it’s too much. He can’t. He’s can’t stand it.

Sam covers Castiel’s mouth as Castiel peaks, as Castiel squeezes his eyes closed, shouts into the muffling weight of Sam’s hand and shoots hot into the other working him through. Castiel shakes with it and sobs, falling back against Sam, legs open and jerking up, body rolling with each wave of it until it finally leaves him drawn out and gasping for air at the last.

Castiel is vaguely aware of Sam wiping his hand off on his shirt, running damp fingers through his short hair.

“Get it now?” Sam whispers dark into Castiel’s ear.

Castiel breathes in and out, heartbeat a painful stinging pulse in his chest, lungs burning.

The TV smokes and sparks, screen now dead and staring back.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a stand alone piece, but there is a continuation [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5091623)


End file.
